


The Ballad of Poor Callum Scott

by Shamelessquestions (KagekitsuneXXX)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekitsuneXXX/pseuds/Shamelessquestions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another poor boyfriend gets sacrificed on the altar of crazed hoodlum love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Poor Callum Scott

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MintSauce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Taste of Familiarity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/724570) by [MintSauce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce). 



> This is my way of saying hello to the fandom.  
> Poor Callum and the ending belong to the wonderful MintSauce.

Callum Scott knew he was a catch, although the way his love life had been going, it had felt more like catch-and-release. It’s partially his fault, he supposes. Callum had a type: the wounded baby bird, damsels-in-distress. The ones newly liberated from toxic relationships with guys who were massive dicks (and not in the good way). His radar for them was flawless and unparalleled. The exes were always assholes; poor communicators, emotionally unavailable, some form of abusive, deeply closeted and/or horribly unsupportive in some way that was always wound up being a deal-breaker.

It was after the straw had finally broken the camel’s back that Callum would swoop in like some kind of emotional superhero. He was a relationship shark, smelling the blood in the water as his prey nursed a lonely drink in the nightclub and subsequently sobbed out the whole story to him.

He would then proceed to razzle-dazzle the daylights out of them. Callum was sweet, gentle, patient, demonstrative in his affections, and by the time he was through, there would be nothing but stardust in their eyes when they looked at him. Thus, a brand new relationship would be born with Callum as the knight-in-shining-armor, and it would be bliss.

For about two weeks.

It was around that time that Callum’s newest conquest would awaken in a cold sweat, feeling the room closing in on him as he fought off the sensation of being slowly stifled. For whilst Callum was sweet, gentle, patient and demonstrative in his affections, he was also the most boring, white bread motherfucker on this side of the planet. He’d have his meals, watch TV and do his chores, all the while happily oblivious to the silent scream forming behind his boyfriends’ eyes. Their exes were assholes, but at least they knew how to get their motors running.

But how do you break up with a nice guy? Especially after the pieces of shit you were messing with before? Short answer: you don’t. You hang in there, gripping with your fingernails until you wind up screaming in your skull and end up blowing the first Marlon Brando wannabe you come across in the gross bathroom of that shitty dive bar your well-meaning boyfriend took you to, making enough noise so that your sweet mistake of a rebound finally finds you.

Seriously, Callum has had some of the most bullshit breakups ever.

* * *

Ian Gallagher was going to be the exception though. He wasn't broken, he wasn’t wounded, he wasn’t on the rebound as far as Callum could figure. He was just an insanely hot guy jamming out in the club, oblivious to the world around him when he was on the dance floor. Callum was smitten instantly. The boy was built like a Greek god, all toned and tight with his military cut red hair that sent Callum’s mind spinning off into a thousand different directions. Ian was magnetic, and he had been politely turning down guy after guy all night, making Callum doubt his own chances as he watched nervously from across the room. He was going to take the shot though, because seriously, with a guy who looked like that how could you not try? He finally managed to sidle up to him, and only received a polite but dismissive smile for the effort. Callum was undeterred however, and since Ian was way outside the box for him, he decided to change up his own approach as well.

 “What it is, firecrotch?” Callum asked, adopting the laziest Chicago drawl he could manage. He damn near died, it sounded so bad and cringe-worthy to his own ears. Not to mention that it was blatant false advertising. He was about to abort and slink away shamefully, until he saw a strange light enter Ian’s eyes as the redhead turned to look at him and give him the once over.

 “Ian…” the new love of Callum’s life offered as he extended a hand.

 “Callum…” he returned. This was going to end well. He could feel it.

* * *

The relationship had hit the one month mark and Callum was beside himself. He had known Ian was going to be different. By this time, his previous boyfriends would have been distracted and antsy, but not his ginger. Of course, an impartial observer would probably note that Ian most likely came into the relationship already distracted and antsy, but how was Callum to know that? If there was panic forming behind those green eyes, Callum couldn’t spot it, but then again, he wasn’t exactly the best at reading social cues. For example, when he brought up meeting Ian’s family, he wasn’t at all put off by the ridiculously long pause as Ian scrambled desperately to find a reason not to arrange the meet-up. He just sat patiently, head slightly cocked as Ian’s eyes darted all over the place. Finally, there came a heavy sigh, “okay, I guess,” Ian relented and quickly chugged his soda as his leg bounced against the floor.

Satisfied that much progress had been made, Callum tackled the next thing on his relationship to-do list, “So who’s Mick?”

Ian did a spit-take what would have made Larry, Moe and Curly proud. He sputtered, gasped and flailed a bit before quickly getting himself under control.

“Mick?” When that came out several octaves too high, Ian brought his voice down with a jerk. “Who’s Mick? When did I say ‘Mick’? I never said anything about anyone named Mick.”

Not exactly true—Callum had heard him say that name quite a few times already, and usually at the most inopportune moments, like at the height of orgasm or when Ian was drifting off to sleep.

It was the kind of disturbance in the force that Callum had been unwilling to take on in the initial stages of the relationship, but getting one month in without major incident was making him cocky.

“Oh… I wasn’t saying ‘Mick’,” Ian hedged as he was left scrambling for excuses for the second time that morning, “I was probably just saying ‘mmm-dick’…or something.”

“What? Dick? Really..?”

“Yeah,” Ian nodded, glomming on to Callum’s evident bemusement, “I say weird shit in bed all the time, Cal. Plus, I appreciate good dick and you happen to have a great one,” Ian added as he gave the least casual, not-at-all-suspicious wink in the history of ever.

Alright, yes, okay, in the harsh light of day it was clearly one of the stupidest and lamest excuses ever invented and, obviously, only an absolutely delusional moron would fall for it. Well, fuck you for thinking that. Were you the one sitting there, staring into Ian Gallagher’s big green eyes while he waxed poetic about your amazing dick? No, no you weren’t. Flattery will get you anywhere and this was hardly an exception.

So before Callum’s blush could die down and he could begin questioning some of the finer aspects of Ian’s explanation (like say when Callum heard him say “Mickey”, what was Ian actually saying, then? Like who says ‘dickey”?) , Callum was being hustled out into the Saturday morning sunshine to meet the Gallaghers.

* * *

It was hard to say who was more shell-shocked, Callum or Ian’s eclectic plethora of siblings. Ian’s life was far more…chaotic than Callum would have imagined and he was beginning to think that maybe he had pushed for this meeting a tad early. That was confirmed when he inadvertently found himself in a staring contest with Carl, terrified that, somehow, blinking would result in his untimely death. At one point, a tall man with a goatee barged in, followed closely by a fast talking woman in a skimpy, latex nurse’s outfit, grabbed an iron, growled at them, then stalked out again.

“Kev and V,” Ian nodded, “you’ll meet them later.” Callum felt as if he’d fallen down the rabbit hole.   

Ian took his boyfriend’s numbed silence as their cue to leave, “we’ll, uh, catch you guys later then,” he muttered as he grabbed Callum’s hand and dragged him out into the sunshine. The door had barely slammed shut before the judgment was passed.

“What the fuck was that?” Fiona let out. It had been like watching warm, slightly sweetened oatmeal come to life and try to interact with people.

“It’s the anti-Mickey,” Lip muttered to himself as the others sat trying to process their brother’s newest whatever, “it’s more terrifying than I could have possibly imagined.”

“He called me lil Debbie, like, what the hell?!”

“I mean, he’s nice,” Fiona offered, trying to staunch the bloodletting, “he seems solid, dependable, good for the long haul…”

“Is he a boyfriend or a Chevy?” Lip snarked, “ten bucks says they don’t make it to the end of another week.” Or rather, Lip felt they wouldn’t survive their first encounter with Mickey, which was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

“I’ll take that bet, I think Ian’s good for another month,” Fiona, ever the optimist.

“He blinked, I’m going to kneecap him,” Carl was up and heading for the baseball bat while everyone else nodded distractedly.

“Lil Debbie, I mean really?!”

It was a good ten seconds before it finally sunk in and all three were on their feet and chasing after their bat-wielding brother.

“CARL!!!”

* * *

Callum was slowly getting over the culture shock that was Ian’s home life when they came across Mandy Milkovich. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take for one day. Someone had obviously taken the skank-stick and had beaten this poor girl stupid with it.

“Wassup nerds?” She seemed cheerful enough though as she bumped shoulders with Ian and got him to unleash one of his more dazzling grins, “take me shopping?”

Before he knew it, he was being herded towards the Milkovich house and it was like stepping into a Salvador Dali interpretation of a ghetto. Callum’s world tilted even further and he here had thought the Gallagher place was bad. There were clothes and garbage strewn everywhere, there was a smell, and he was pretty certain it was an ongoing crime scene. Ian and Mandy slithered through the place like old alley cats, with an ease and belonging that was just insane. No one should be used to this. Callum reflexively twisted his hands into Ian’s shirt, anchoring himself while silently offering his support. They were supposed to have the place to themselves while Mandy put on her second face, so when Mickey appeared, it was all Callum could do not to jump out of his skin.

Mickey Milkovich knew how to make an entrance. He stepped into the room shrouded in a fog of cigarette smoke, like some old gangster out of film noir. The smoke cleared a bit, and he emerged properly, surveying everyone and everything in his domain. His gaze settled on Ian briefly, before raking the redhead up and down. Mickey was shorter and paler than anyone in the house at the moment, but he was built like a tank and the menace rolling off him was otherworldly. He was taking deep drags of his cigarette, not breaking eye contact with Ian for a second. There seemed to be an entire conversation happening in subtext and Callum had the sneaking suspicion that Ian had forgotten he was even there. It was at that moment the light bulb went off. His name was Mickey… as in Mick, and suddenly “mmm-dick” was taking on a whole new meaning.

Well fuck that noise.

Callum stepped around Ian, putting himself squarely between Mmm-dick and _his_ boyfriend. This would soon prove to be a grievous tactical error on Callum’s part.

“Why the fuck is he in my house?”

Callum raised his chin as Mandy exasperatedly explained who he was and why he was and the next thing he knew there was a concrete wall crashing into him.

Mickey was on him like thuggish, ruffian white on woefully inadequate rice. A tattooed right fist was connecting with his face with brutal, relentless efficiency. In all his dreams, where Callum imagined being fucked into unconsciousness, he would never have imagined that this is the way it would happen.

Mandy was screaming bloody murder at Mickey, while Callum’s goddamned boyfriend was standing there, eyes glazed while an insane interplay of emotions flickered across his face. It might have been the impending death, but Callum felt like Ian was only a hot second away from palming himself through his pants. _Feel free to jump in any goddamn day now, you fucking carrot-top bastard!_

Ian finally shook himself and soon he and Mandy were hauling Mickey off his victim. “The fucker tried to get me fucking arrested,” Mickey offered lamely, which was some kind of advanced-level bullshit, because Callum had his issues, but being suicidal was never one of them. Who would snitch on a south-sider?

Despite the fact that Callum was cowering in a corner, nursing his broken face, he had yet to get Ian’s attention. Instead, his ginger boyfriend was watching the two siblings yell about possible homophobia and then adding in his own two cents by needling Mickey. The shorter boy went after him like an unleashed pit bull.

As bad as Callum’s beat-down was a minute before, this fight was on another level. He could only look on wide-eyed and horrified as the two tried to beat the living hell out of each other to the tune of Mandy’s ineffectual screams. Callum was coming to the realization that his sweet, military-minded boyfriend was honestly and seriously mad ghetto.

The fight seemed to come to some kind of stalemate with Mickey shoving up Ian against the wall, apparently trying to choke him out, while Ian glared him down, legs wrapped around the brunet’s chest, also trying to squeeze his opponent into unconsciousness. Mandy seemed content to wait until they were both passed out, but Callum was sensing a shift in the air, something else was happening. It wasn’t until Ian’s legs slipped a little and he ground against Mickey that finally all the pieces fell into place.

Now this was just some grade-A bullshit right here.

Callum and Mandy watched agape as Mickey and Ian switched from fight to fuck into the space of a couple minutes. Although to be honest, it wasn’t really that much of a transition. He watched in disbelief as they brutally tore and pulled at each other, guttural moans, biting kisses and burning passion filling all the occupied space of the rundown house. They finally stumbled past a dumbstruck Mandy, not breaking contact in the slightest and collapsed onto Mickey’s bed—door wide open, completely heedless of their surroundings and audience. Mandy finally gathered her wits enough to slowly and quietly close the door, while her brother and best friend went at it like animals.

“You still up for going shopping?” Mandy eventually asked as she prepared to hightail it out of there. She intended to get as high as possible and brain-bleach the hell out of this moment. Whitebread was welcome to tag along, since he was probably more in need of a blunt and a hit than she was right then, with his eye and jaw swelling to titanic proportions.

“Yeah, sure…” he muttered while Ian took screaming Mickey’s name to whole new levels.

Let it never be said that Callum Scott could not take a hint.


End file.
